


Drabbles

by moodyrebelmage



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Post-Trespasser, relationship barely implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyrebelmage/pseuds/moodyrebelmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just trying to keep some of the little writing bits together. </p><p>1) 5 Minute Challenge - Rutherford's Rose Fever: in which the Commander is not a huge fan of spring.<br/>2) Prompt - Take a Deep Breath: Cullen/Elodie: Cullen is injured, but Elodie is no healer.<br/>3) Prompt - Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someones lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5 Minute Challenge - Rutherford's Rose Fever

It hit him like clockwork the first week of Cloudreach each year. Cullen had hoped this spring would be different; Skyhold was ancient and mysterious and its weather was curiously milder than any of the region surrounding it, and yet, inevitably, it happened.

He noticed it first in the middle of a war council. Josephine was explaining a feud between three Orlesian lineages when a tickle pricked at the back of his throat. He sipped at his wine, hoping it was just a bit of dry air, but within an hour it had become an arid, burning scratch. His voice caught when he spoke, like a gangly teenager, and the Inquisitor’s interest in troop movements was shattered while she tried to determine what was wrong with him.

Before he could wave off her fretting, he sneezed. Nine times, he sneezed, until his colleagues’ concern turned to giggles and he had to excuse himself because the damn trees were preventing any of them from getting any work done. He commanded an army, for Andraste’s sake, he wouldn’t be taken down by _leaves_. He retired to his office to read his reports in safety and solitude.

The next morning a courier delivered a note from the Inquisitor.

“ _Cassandra says it helps if you punch them._ ”


	2. Prompt - Take a Deep Breath: Cullen/Elodie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blood tw

The dark pool under the crook of his neck poured out into the cracks in the dirt. Elodie watched it, paralyzed and breathless, as if it were her own life draining away from her. One moment of vulnerability, of trust in the world and her fate; after everything that had happened, she should have known better.

A shaky breath snapped her back to the movement of time.

“Elodie...”

Before her Cullen lay, unmoving but gulping thickly at the air, his voice only a whisper now as if the rest of it had rolled down the hill with his blood.

“Please,” she sobbed, but could come up with no prayer to finish it.

She patted at her belt ineffectually. It was only a picnic; she hadn't thought to bring any potions. _It was only a picnic._

His face was sharp and pale. He looked older, drained, but his amber eyes remained clear and fixed on her as he fought for his life. He hadn't given up, maybe because he couldn't see the damage, how much he had lost, or maybe he was only making a show of it for her.

“Love, try...” Even that winded him, and it was a long, excruciating moment before he could finish. “Heal...”

Her cheeks were already wet with panic, but at this she crumpled. She had so little experience with healing spells; she had poured all of her time into herbalism and potions and elemental magic, and now she would watch him die knowing she could have saved him if she had only planned better. What use was a Herald who could not heal? She was failing.

“ _I'm sorry._ ”

Her fingers tugged at his coat, trembling and desperate for something to do. Lithe and strong from years spent pruning and weeding, they may as well have been useless. Cullen's hand landed hard on hers, gripping it with strength she wouldn't have guessed he had. His skin was ice, rough but alive.

“Try,” he said again. “Breathe.”

It was such a ridiculous thing to hear from the mouth of a dying man that, just for a moment, it pulled her out of her anguished, selfish haze. She met his stare and inhaled deeply.

In the Circle, she had rejected interacting with spirits as often as she could. They could be used to heal, but they could be used to hurt, too. Elodie was driven to help, but shackled by her upbringing, her need to be respectable. That seemed like ages ago. She encountered spirits all the time now, some corrupted, but others like Cole or Wisdom, willing to help if given the chance.

She took another breath.

“Try,” Cullen whispered. His eyes were still on her, but they were dimming, his voice barely more than a breath.

Her hands steadied. Hovering over the gash with steely determination, she took one final breath and reached into the Fade.


	3. Cheiloproclitic - being attracted to someones lips.

Cullen found her at the top of the hill, seated on a blanket underneath a blackthorn tree. She hadn’t spotted him yet; he had come up the side and her hearing wasn’t what it used to be. When he sat down beside her, she smiled, the soft lines arcing down from her nose to the corners of her lips, a testament to the years behind them.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

“I wanted to do this properly.”

Her grin cocked to the side. Faint marks lined the edges of her lips, wrinkles tallying all the years she had spent beside him – twenty as of that afternoon – each one representing a treasured moment in a life he barely deserved.

“I was too impulsive-”

“You?”

“I had a plan, and I threw it away because I couldn’t bear to wait any longer. I just wanted to be married, I didn’t care how.”

“Is this regret, Mr. Rutherford?”

The gentle lines forking out from the corners of her eyes punctuated her smile. Her brow cocked to the same side as her elegant lips, lips that had talked him through countless rough patches, whispered safety into his ears during unspeakable nightmares, sung to his children, drew him out of himself and into her, kissed him until the world around them didn’t exist.

“Cullen?”

She ducked down to meet his eyes, and he realized he had been staring. Even now she could make him blush, and for a moment he forgot what he had been trying to say. How long before he got it out, before he could touch those lips again, press his own to each sweet tally marking a year of their promise? Deep breaths drew in the musky scent of the blackthorn beside them; he was losing himself again.

“It is, I suppose,” he answered. “Regret that I was too impatient to give you a proper wedding, or that I never worked up the courage to ask you sooner.”

“You know I never cared about that.”

Her hand reached for his, squeezing his fingers. Her look was tender, and he wondered briefly if she was ever taken by the same thoughts, if she studied the color under his eyes, the lines of his brow, the grey in his hair and was grateful for all the time they had been allowed.

“I know. But you deserved more.”

“I got more. Twenty years with you, and at least another twenty, if I’m lucky. What more could I want? What brought this on, anyway?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

The edge of her teeth grazed against the pillow of her bottom lip as she waited for him to continue, leaving a faint sheen that he imagined tasted of the tart berries in the bowl next to her. The flesh of her lips had been stained a muted purple by their juices, and his breath got away from him again while he imagined the taste of them.

“Cullen?”

Her voice straddled the line between amused and concerned. This was not going as planned.

“Forgive me, this is not what I-”

“Why don’t we just have some wine, enjoy our picnic, and relax?”

She was already pouring; he had to get it out before she drew the cup to her lips, before the grape blush blended with the berries, the luster sweeping across their plump flesh, overthrowing his intentions. Yes, he needed at least another twenty years to get his fill of those perfect lips.

“Marry me.”

Damn it, it was happening again. Twenty years on, and he was still so easily vanquished.

“What?”

“ _I had a plan_. I botched it the first time, but I wanted us to celebrate properly. With everyone who couldn’t be there last time. Everyone who could make it, that is.”

“Are you asking-”

Her lips were parted in confusion, the flawless gap between the rosy pillows drawing his eyes away from hers once more, beckoning him to fill it. _Just say it_.

“Would you do me the honor…”

Her fingers brushed his cheek, and it was only then that he realized how close he had gotten, his own lips now inches from hers, leading him to her with a will of their own before his words could catch up with them. She gently dodged him, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Cullen, whatever this is, the answer is yes.”

 _Mercy_. Tender flesh brushed against tender flesh, tasting faintly of berries. Silky, slippery, her mouth closed over his; the teeth that so had enticed him now dragging lightly across his bottom lip, tugging the fever out of him. He would never get his fill of those perfect lips.


End file.
